He tried to blink, but when you no longer have eyelids, you can’t. And he didn’t. His face was cut to bloody ribbons. His nose was gone; sliced off. And portions of his cheeks – random chunks of pulpy flesh – were gouged out. He saw all of this reflecting in hundreds of mirrors attached to the walls of the securely-locked room, while struggling to free himself from the confines of a straight jacket restricting his every movement. He felt his heart skip with mortal fear just before his head began to spin. Then his stomach sent a stream of vomit shooting from his gaping mouth. Then he screamed. The piercing sounds might have broken glass, but the mirrors remained unphased. His terrible reflection was everywhere. It seemed a long way from Wall Street.
“It’s a type of aphephobia, the fear of being touched. I can’t fucking stand it when someone touches my face. If someone even brushes my cheek, it bothers me for days. Drives me crazy. Then there’s my haemophobia. I’m afraid of blood. The sight of blood. Even glancing at the shit makes my head spin. I’ve been that way since I was a kid.
“And what else is there?,” asked the beautiful woman.
“Well,” said the man, “there’s also claustrophobia. You know that one. It’s a fear of feeling tightness, of being closed in. That one increases my heart rate, makes me feel like I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack. Sometimes it even makes me puke. I have constant nightmares about being tied up, being locked in small rooms, that sort of shit. But none of it is as bad as the damn agoraphobia.”
“Oh,” said the beautiful woman, “What’s that one?”
“It’s feeling like I have no escape from something, no chance for help. A deep, almost indescribable fear. One that drives me so insane, all I can do is fucking scream. But that doctor, the psychiatrist, she has me on all sorts of medication. It’s done wonders. I just can’t forget to take them, the meds.”
“No,” said the beautiful woman, “you can’t, or I don’t know how the hell you’d be able to pull off staying sufficiently sane to make a quarter million dollars a month.”
“Yeah, said the man, it’s not something most guys could pull off. My ability to get past all that fear bullshit to do what I do on Wall Street is definitely impressive.”
“So is fucking your boss’s prized girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for her breasts, “it is. Let’s just not let her find out.”